We were thick as thieves, the three of us. Thick as thieves for four steady years. Losing this is a small part of what’s made the last three years so…odd.

Today is a day with a lot of memories for me — three important things (that I can remember) all happened on February 20th. The 20th seems to be some sort of focal point for some reason — my grandfather died on September 20th, and October 20th is the birthday of two very good friends.

One of those friends passed away three years ago today. Before that, at least until I moved to Vancouver, we were as thick as thieves.

It’s hard to explain the role that Richard Charteris played in my life, partly because he filled so many. He was an important colleague, and together we did some very good work; he was a little bit like a father to me, something I’ve lacked for much of my life; he was a little bit like an older brother — the kind of person you get in trouble with, and you keep out of trouble with. We were very good at doing both.

Dick — he was a Richard who went by Dick amongst his friends — worked together at Trimark Mutual Funds in the days when mutual fund marketing departments were great places to work; places where a booming market granted the kind of creative freedom that’s unique to those brimming with confidence. The three of us did great work together, and with our other colleagues. It was a great time.

Al, Dick and I were drinking buddies who could frequently be found at the Duke of Westminster in the bottom of First Canadian Place. Dick would roll his own cigarettes (in those days, you could still smoke in bars in Toronto) and the three of us would go over old stories, and speculate on the future. Others were around a lot too — Lesley, Clarkey, Catherine, Luis and a bunch of others — but the three of us were always tight. A small little group of thieves in the middle of good people, stealing moments whenever we could.

One day, Dick left. He was a magazine guy at heart, and he left to become the editor of Farm & Country, and I worried I’d never see him again.

I didn’t have to worry — pretty soon, the three of us were at it again, sometimes in far flug hidden corners of Toronto’s underground in order to avoid a crowd. It didn’t matter that Dick was no longer with us, because the three of us were still…us. a lot of beer go consumed, and a good time was always had by all.

I was the first to leave, moving to Vancouver too (foolishly, in hindsight) follow my heart without much regard for my career. I left, and made it back infrequently.

Al was next, pursuing a career opportunity first in Sackville, New Brunswick and next in Halifax. I spent some time in Charlottetown, but never managed to connect physically with Al while I was there. It would have only been the two of us…if Dick had been around, we would have been up to our old ways in a moment.

Dick left us, early…too young. The last time I saw him was about two months before he passed away, when I had dinner at his house in Leaside with both of his daughters. His daughters were, as could be expected, amazing young women. One was…10, the other was about 17.

I wrote a letter to Dick’s dad about a year after he died, and it felt good. It had been a hard year, but mostly I needed him to know how important his son had been too me. I still can’t put it into words very well, but I hope he knows; I hope my letter, written in a moment of pain over a beer in my favourite North Vancouver hang out, made him feel better. I hope it didn’t remind him of the pain…it wasn’t my intention.

We were thick as thieves, Dick and Al & I. Now we live on opposite ends of the country, and Dick lies waiting in the middle.

I still miss him; it’s a little easier this year than last, but not much.

Posted by skooter at 8:33 PM This entry is filed under Friends.
This entry is tagged: Al Graham, Richard Charteris, Trimark